Broken Swans
by 0ShatteredPenance0
Summary: Cammie goes to Armonia School of the Arts for Exceptional Youth. Her passion is dancing, but when tragedy takes place and that's all taken away from her, she will only have one person to lean on to figure out the mysteries and secrets of Armonia. AUZammie
1. Crumbling in Northside

**Chapter One**

**~Armonia School for the Exceptional Youth~**

_Turning._

_Keep turning._

_Eyes on that one tiny crack in the mirror from when Kenton did a jete battu smack into her own reflection. _

Don't laugh at your friend's antics.

Focus.

_Grande Battement into a series of pirouettes that spiral into graceful fouettes. _

I feel alive as the music's frantic beats match my racing heart. I lose myself as I often do as I push off the ground. Harder. Faster. The block of my point shoes will have to be replaced as it's been worn out and beaten.

The debauched music came to a close as I ended with my feet in a wide fourth position, one arm curved in front of my belly button and the other curved behind my head as I tilted my head to the side and leaned back.

My chest was heaving as applause erupted from the crowd that had gathered during my practice.

"Morgan. You get better and better e'ryday," an all too familiar French accent collected the silent awed expressions of my peers and they started to chatter to themselves again.

I broke from my pose, pulling some of the loose wisps of hair out of my face that had managed to get out of my tight bun of dirty blond hair.

"Thanks, Miss Jacques… but I still need to work on that last fouette because-"

"Ay," she interrupts, "why zero of you no dancing? Just 'cause the girl finishes don't give you excuse to gossip like bonch of teenage lassies!" she shouts to the rest of the underclassmen girls who were sitting huddled under the warm-up bars next to the mirrors.

The veins in her neck disappear from sight and I sigh with relief at knowing she didn't just have a coronary.

Gina Jacques turns back to me with her sweet smile and says, "Now, deary, thanks for showing these ungrateful gals how it's really done. Dey just needed to be inspired by _the _Cameron Morgan; mon jeune prodige," she pinches my cheeks, a habit I've become used to from this ballet crazed lady that I've come to admire over the past six years of my life.

Miss Jacques was in her early fifties, you could tell my the strands of white hair that stood out among her pitch black strands; her natural color. She had some wrinkles that she admitted to covering up with stage make up and told all of us that "grace doesn't come with youth, but youth comes with grace. That is what I have come here to teach you-through the blood, sweat, and many tears."

She was a famous French dancer, her career ending when she tore her ACL but was offered a job at the most prestigious school of the arts in the good ole U.S. of A.

She was strict when she had to be. She's eccentric on and off the dance floor. She's kind and humorous if you're not on her bad side. If you're on her bad side?

Well…good luck surviving at Armonia School of Arts.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X

Armonia means Harmony in Italian.

Yeah, I don't get why our school of the arts is called that either.

Our lovely school resides in Chicago, where we get three kinds of weather: cold, snow, and August.

Not so great when you have to rush to your next class in tights.

But the guys don't mind.

Armonia is co-ed for the exceptional people in the world who either have talent and guts, or money and Botox. The grade levels range from seventh grade to senior year in high school, making this my home for nearly six years.

We live in dorms on campus, going by gender and grade. I guess we've had so many rich donors that we're able to have houses for each grade and gender.

Each house is either two or three stories. There's a kitchen, dining room, and common room area that we all hang out in during our free time. There used to be a rule where you were only able to room with someone that was in the same division as you.

There are three divisions: musicians, dancers, and artists. Basically, the three most popular art forms that we specialize here at Armonia. They were separated in the dorm rooms when I was in seventh grade up until ninth grade when others protested that it was unfair that they were unable to room with their friends. The Armonia Board (a group of old people who founded Armonia in the seventies) argued that it would make students focused on their Art Major and not interfere with other's time schedules (dancers get up every morning at 4:00 for warm-ups, artists stay at the studio up until very late).

But, after months of convincing, they passed the rule that now enabled freedom to choose your roommates.

That didn't mean there weren't still cliques.

Practically no one strayed out of his or her cliques. Dancers were known to be the highest in social popularity (despite myself), then artists were next (because they could make you a mini fridge to sneak into your dorm room), and then musicians (because most people here believe it's the easiest thing to learn). You can't just learn how to put emotions and grace into movement to convey a story. You can't just scribble on paper and convey the mystery the Mona Lisa has inspired. Playing a couple chords was the easiest to people who weren't the lowly musicians.

So, despite the rule made three years ago, no one really segregated outside of his or her Art Major. If anyone even tried…Victoria Walters would have a lot to say about it.

Victoria was also a dancer in my year. She was supposedly my friend, but I knew better. I was only a follower, a puppet, a minion. Ever since the competition in eighth grade that earned me first place in my division, Victoria had befriended me-or recruited. I guess it was to 'raise her social status', as corny as hell as that sounds. Why not befriend the highest-ranking dancer in the school?

I'm not conceited. It's a fact.

To put it frankly, Victoria Walters is a bitch.

If she ever looks down at any lower social class dancer, or worse, a lower class artist or musician, it's to boss their asses around. Why do I put up with Victoria? Because then I could get through high school without drama of being picked on like I was in the sixth grade at public school or how I feared and shied away in the beginning of seventh. I just wanted to use my full scholarship to my advantage. Do what I love and know best: Dance.

When I can, I try to leave when Victoria starts to get all high and mighty. I go to a happy place: Northside Studio B.

Northside Studio B was the six-sided mirrored room-a perfect 360 degree angle that you could watch every movement you make, every mistake. The floor and ceiling was a type of waxed glass that was made especially for point shoes-so the room was safe for any kind of dancing besides tap. The ceiling was made of glass so that natural light could shine through and give off a majestic feeling as one would dance. Plus, it was easy for the boys dancers to hear the beat and not hurt their heads as much on the glass floor than the cement floor when they did poses or 360 spins-on their heads.

As I thought of the hardest type of fouettes on point-Italian fouettes-and how I needed to practice it for my solo, I didn't notice the Jazz Band carrying large instruments outside towards Masen Theater on the Southside until I ran smack into someone carrying a Bass guitar in one arm and a keyboard in the other.

"Shit!" a silky voice said as we both landed on our backsides on the damp grass and autumn leaves of this late September.

"My God, I'm so, so sorry. I was going to the Mess Hall and I didn't notice-" I tried to explain.

"Just, shut up, okay? You managed to bust a couple of strings on the Bass and get grass in-between some keys so just leave…" he finally looked up with angry eyes that widened when he realized it was me-Victoria's right-hand minion, highest ranking dancer in Armonia-and just when I was expecting the groveling, his eyes hardened and his jaw clenched.

"It was an accident. I was just apologizing, okay?" my own eyes narrowed. I wouldn't allow for anyone to talk to me like that. No one tells Cammie Morgan to shut up…well, maybe if I was singing I could understand…

"And I'm telling you to get the hell away from me!" he said seething now.

"You can't tell me what to do! What got your panties in a twist?" I snapped back. Now, I'm not usually sassy nor do I do well with confrontation, but something about this green-eyed, dark haired guy brought out the worst in me.

"Is there a problem here?" a voice behind us asked and my mood did a one-eighty when I caught sight of my boyfriend. "Huh, Zach? You gotta problem with my girl?"

The guy who was apparently named Zach, glared, his fist clenching as he said, "Not at all, Josh."

Josh was all sweaty, probably from his Group Intensive class with the guys dance team. I stood up beside him and let him wrap an arm around my shoulders and I melted into his familiar embrace.

Zach stood up the same time I did, looking from Josh's arm around me to my eyes and I flinched away as I felt his eyes burning through mine.

"Then pick up your little toys and be on your way," Josh mocked and I almost felt disgusted with him. Almost.

Zach looked like he was going to break Josh in half when his friends from Jazz Band called him from Masen Theater to 'move his ass'. He glanced back at me once more before he picked up both instruments and hauled his way through the crowd as the lunch bell rang throughout campus.

Josh squeezed my shoulder again and chuckled, "Stupid musician. He's just a loser, Cam. Don't let him get to you," he bent down and pecked me on the lips, something I used to get all tingly when I felt but suddenly was…empty.

Like he had to force himself to touch me.

"I'll see you later, babe, right?" he asked me, jogging backwards.

"Yeah, where are you going, though? I thought we could eat lunch together or something?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.

"I…um, have to go meet the guys for the Group Intensive," he said, but I knew he just had the Group Intensive.

"Oh…okay," I waved goodbye to him and watched him head into the direction of Westside Studio A when he made a turn suddenly towards his dorm building.

I sighed, shaking my head, and pulled my dance bag back over my shoulder since it landed on the damp ground when I bumped into Zach.

"Why do you put up with him, Cam?" a British voice said behind me.

I turned and tried not to laugh at the mishap that was my best friend, Bex Baxter. Her beautiful black hair was in a messy bun by the nape of her neck, she had an apron on and was completely covered in paint splatter.

"What happened to you?" I asked with a guffaw.

"Shut it. The compressed cans of paint exploded in my face when this bloody freshman named Jacob punctured it with a charcoal pencil. Dumbass…" she rolled her eyes and wiped some purple paint off of her caramel skin colored cheek.

I tried to suck in breath through my laughter and said, "Oh, GOD, that's priceless!"

She smacked my arm and said, "Yeah, yeah, now answer the question. Why do you put up with Josh?"

My laughter stopped abruptly and I took her by the elbow towards a hidden bench that was hidden my overgrown foliage in the garden we were just currently in.

I led her over and sat down, placing my hands to cover my face as I spoke.

"The same reasons I put up with Victoria. I used to really like him in sophomore year, you know, the year after he and Victoria broke up at the end of freshman year?"

Bex-Rebecca Baxter-nodded her head. She's been my real friend since she transferred here in the eighth grade. Although, I could never sit with her at lunch, or ask her to be my roommate since Victoria had threatened me with her social status to make my life Hell if I were to abandon her. Bex understood. And so did my roommate who let Bex secretly hang out with us in our dorm room.

Macey was pretty cool.

The only other one that knew about our friendship was a musician named Liz. She was my piano player during competitions, as well as one of my best friends since we were paired often to work together for productions as well as Chemistry AP partners.

Yeah, we still had to do regular classes every other day.

My schedule was always morning warm-ups, then on A days, I would go to the studio to work on whatever dance genre for that day for the next two and a half hours, then lunch, afterwards, solo training with Miss Jacques. On B days, my schedule would have me go to regular school classes: Chemistry AP, English-Lit AP, Econ and Government, French AP, and Calculus BC.

If my GPA slipped below a 3.5, I would lose my scholarship.

And I would be sent home to my mother.

I didn't want that to happen.

So, my GPA has never slipped and like every other senior at Armonia, I was excited for the talent scouts from Julliard and other colleges abroad to be visiting. I already had seven colleges visiting to come see my performance in December and in February.

"But, I know he's cheating on me. I know. but I'm scared to break up with him because of what he could…do…remember what happened when that guy broke up with Victoria?" I asked.

Bex grimaced and nodded again, choosing to be silent and listen before she comments. That's why she's one of my best friends.

"Well, Josh could probably do the same, they are pretty much the most popular and I'm just a follower or else I'm maimed," I say, rolling my eyes even though I'm not joking in the slightest. Victoria and Josh could be that bad.

"But, you know, if you broke up with him, it would give him more freedom to hookup with other girls, right? So why would he care?" Bex asks.

"Because he's only with me for his image," I say solemnly, "he's just using me and he will make my life Hell if I ruin it for him."

We both sit in silence for a moment when a rustle of the branches alert us.

We immediately calm down when we realize it's the rest of our secret friendship group thing.

It sounds so middle school.

Or like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

Hah! Or the Secret Garden.

Whatever.

"Hey, guys! So, Camz I just finished the demo for that song you wanted to use to teach the eighth graders," Liz said. Her blond hair was in a ponytail and she wore jeans and her Texas Longhorns sweater.

"Eighth graders? Why are you teaching the eighth graders?" Macey asked in disgust. She never did like kids.

"For community service hours," I shrugged. Everyone needed to do a minimum of twenty five hours of community service before they could graduate, and I needed to exceed the minimum because of my scholarship.

"Oh." All of them said at the same time which made me smile.

"Yeah," I rubbed my arm that was still sore from my run in earlier. I rolled up the sleeve to my sweater to reveal a bruise that looked kind of like a snake... I obviously shouldn't have done that because that arose more questions.

"What happened to your arm, Cam?" Bex asked suddenly.

"Oh, I just accidently bumped into this guy, earlier before you showed up," I said wincing at how sore my arm felt that I didn't notice before.

"What guy?" Macey asked curiously and wiggled her brows.

"Jeez, does it matter Mace? Cam already has a boyfriend!" Liz tries to reason with her.

"Uh, yeah it does, cause Josh is a douche," Macey chuckles and pats my knee as if it would comfort me more.

"Thanks Mace," I sigh and lie down on the bench as Bex slides down to sit on the floor with Liz and Macey.

I drown out their voices as they contemplate which guy I might've been with.

Zach.

I tried to remember the earlier events as I closed my eyes.

He was tall, strong biceps, but not overbearing. Nor was he gangly. No. Far from it.

But then I remembered the anger in his eyes and cringed against the cold stone of the bench.

I knew some-maybe most-of his anger was directed towards me, but it went further than that. He seemed in agony, so much pain.

Then I wondered why it worried me so much? The guy was a jerk! I try to apologize and am sincere and forthcoming about it…but, he dismisses me in disgust.

Am I that…repulsive?

My chest tightened and my palms turned clammy against the cold stone. I focused back on my friends on the floor to listen as they decided to go get lunch. We would have to separate to our own groups. If anyone saw us hanging out or…just being friendly…people would talk. There would be consequences.

It was as if our loyalties were supposed to lie with our Art Major. If we were to show disloyalty we would be reprimanded, as crazy as it sounds. There have instances of others trying to stand up to Victoria Walters and her other minions besides myself.

It is surprising what the wrath of a dancer could bestow upon others…especially when dancing the Swan Lake choreography.

The young eighth grader was bruised head to toe to the point where she was withheld from dance practice for two months, making her lose a full ride scholarship because her family was not financially able to afford medical insurance.

They could not prove Victoria or others were involved in the injuries, though I know it was them. I had witnessed it. So, they were unable to press charges.

Dance can be gentle, graceful. But it can be cruel and evil. Sun and moon. Heaven and Hell. White Swan and Black Swan.

To dance is to tell a story. To dance is a way of breathing and a way of life.

Not all stories have a happy ending. Life can flash before your eyes.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

"Cammie!" the voice sent chills up and down my spine but I couldn't ignore it any longer. If I did there would be consequences.

_One more year. _

I thought to myself as I tied my pointe shoes on and pulled on leg warmers. Moving over to the rosin box to rub the bottoms of my shoes against it, it turned to see her.

Her translucent blond hair was pulled up into a tight bun-Miss Jacques hated flyaway hairs during practice-stage make-up donned her face and a sly smile graced her lips.

She looked thinner.

I knew she was on a diet by choice, one that wasn't healthy. But I couldn't argue with her, I'm on a strict diet too.

Except that my mother is the one who believes I should be thinner. The thinner the less weight to carry on my toes.

"Hey, Victoria," I say with false friendliness.

_Just one year left._

Northside Studio C never felt so small. There were other girls stretching while chatting quietly in the other corner, but they felt miles away as Victoria confronted me. Usually she would have me follow her around after class, sit with her in the Mess Hall during meals, go to social gatherings. This was odd, conversing with me here. The dance studio is where I shine. Victoria was a decent dancer, I couldn't complain about that, but I couldn't be bothered when I was in my element. For I was the only one that existed as my body moved in fluid movements that have been imprinted in my mind ever since I was little. Ever since my mother dragged me to a dance class and watched me throughout that painful first hour. Scrutinizing my every move.

I shake my head at where my thoughts had wandered as Victoria replied, "I need you to talk to your composer for me."

Ah, she was using me.

"What for?" I ask as I step out of the Rosin box for her to step in.

"My composer graduated last year and I don't have enough time to deal with composer interviews before the homecoming performances," she says as she fixes the spaghetti strap of her black leotard.

I wanted to go invisible, but my red leotard made that virtually impossible to do as I contemplated an answer.

She wanted to work with Liz. If Liz made a…a mistake? No. I wouldn't be able to stand back and let innocent, petite Liz get picked on.

"Y-You want to…to work with Liz Sutton?" I ask.

"She's a geeky loser, but she's the best, I hear, at giving people what they want to hear in their compositions," she smirks and checks her make up in the mirror.

"She is brilliant at what she does. But she's not a loser, V," I say and she raises an eyebrow.

Turning from the mirror of the studio, she crosses her arms and makes a thud with one of the blocks of her pointe shoes.

I feel vulnerable and exposed as she laughs through her nose, turning into loud howls of laughter-making the other girls silence and turn towards us, eyes staring on in horror.

Where was Macey and why was she late for class again!

Macey was the only neutral friend I could hang out with in front of Victoria-her being a dance Art Major-but I guess Victoria felt intimidated by my kickass roommate, so, did not accept her into her group of minions.

"Whatever, Cam, I don't care. Just give her this demo to work on, and text me when she's finished.

I tilted my head to the side, "You're not gonna work with her yourself?" I ask confused.

"God no, I've got some stuff to do," she says, looking over to the window that connects Studio C and Studio A. I saw the boys group through the window and saw a guy named Jackson looking back at Victoria.

I chanced a glance back at Victoria to see her lick her Botox lips and turned back to me hastily, "Don't screw this up."

"Right, Lassies! Ready to begin practicing for solo auditions?" Miss Jacques walks into the room.

"Yes, Ma'am," all of us say in our best manners.

"5, 6, 7, 8," she recited and the music began for our early evening warm-ups.

In an instant, I was back in my element.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

The truth was, I liked playing music almost just as much as I loved dancing.

That's how I found myself playing the piano part for the demo Liz and I were working together.

Liz had already finished Victoria's demo and had begun another that we were just messing around with.

We were in the recording studio, popcorn and Peanut M&Ms littered the top of the piano and the rest were mixed in a bowl on top of the piano as I grabbed a handful. Liz held one of the headphones to one ear to check the sound pitch and adjust a couple of things.

She really was very good.

"How does it sound?" I asked over my mouthful of popcorn.

"Great…amazing actually," she put down the headphones and turned in her swivel chair to look at me, "I didn't know you could play piano!"

I blushed a bit and shrugged, "My, uh…um, my dad taught me. He played piano for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra before he passed."

"He played for one of the _Big Five_?" Liz exclaimed in excitement until it disappeared, "wait, did you say he passed?"

I nodded and shrugged again, feeling tears well in my eyes.

"Oh, Cam, I'm so sorry," she reached over to hug me through the soundproof glass but I shook my head and smiled a bit.

"No, it's okay. He's been gone for awhile now," she doesn't look convinced as I turn back to the piano and say, "Let's redo my part, I want to see if I can make a change with some of the sequences."

She nods and pressed the recording button.

My fingers move across the keys in reverence to each key, pressing only lightly to give an airy feel. The song is sad and expressive and the knot in my chest-that's grew ever since sitting on the stone bench-tightened considerably as I thought of my dreams.

I wanted to become a professional dancer, travel the world, dancing. I wanted to perform in the Russian National Ballet Theatre. Broadway. Train with the best in Europe. I would fulfill my mother's own dreams that..I've deprived her of.

_It's your fault, Cammie._

I suck in a breath as my fingers press down on the ending chords and I look through the glass where Liz has her mouth open in awe on the other side. It makes me laugh a bit to see her petite figure behind all of the recording machines and her mouth hanging open.

Like a nerdy chipmunk on crack.

"Lizzy? How was that?" I ask and she grins.

"Parfaite, mon ami," she grins. But soon her brows furrow as she leans over the machines to adjust whatever it is she's doing.

"Hey, Cam, you see Victoria's disc?" she asks and I tense as I shake my head.

"Could you have left it in the other studio when we were microwaving the popcorn?" I ask and her eyes light up; looking hopeful.

"I'll go check!" she stands up, unplugs her headphones and runs out the door, leaving it wide open.

I forget that she left on the sound and unplugged her headphones, allowing anyone in the hall to hear me play as I let my fingers run along the keys.

I didn't really care though.

I remembered my dad sitting with me on the piano bench at home while mom was at physical therapy. He would play simple songs with me, at first. Chopsticks, Yankee doodle. The likes of that.

He would teach me different key signatures and various chords. I remember his hands, rough and warm from years of playing. His fingers were strong and I remembered teasing him, saying, "I bet you could kill a man, with dis thumb!" I would hold up his thumb and he would laugh at my terrible French accent and poor use of a Ratatouille reference.

I smiled at my childhood antics with my loving father, but reflected how my life had changed without him…with only mother.

Tears flowed as I played with all of my emotions. I started to play and excerpt from Schubert's Sonata in D.

I didn't notice the way the door shut suddenly. I didn't notice the way my tears stained my red Armonia sweater and my black washed jeans. I didn't notice when my dirty blond hair fell as a curtain around my face as I played-my back to the sound proof glass that separated me from the recording studio's machines.

I didn't notice when someone put on a set of headphones to listen to my playing exclusively to themselves.

However, when I finished the piece, I did notice the throat clearing that sounded throughout the sound proof room and a male voice speak in awe.

"That was brilliant. You must be the new freshman."

I didn't know whether to be pissed off that he would mistake me as a FRESHMAN or the fact that it was him.

I turned slowly on the bench to glance at him and say, "Thanks, Zach."

Maybe if I started off polite...

He looked at me as if I spoke an alien language. His smile dropped from his lips and the anger in his eyes…oh that anger…reappeared at the mere sight of me.

_Definitely repulsive._

"What are you doing here!" he banged his fist on the equipment, making a small dent and threw his headphones off and it smashed against the wall. His long legs only took two steps to reach the door and thrust it open and slammed it close.

And that was how I found myself: small, shaking, vulnerable in a sound proof room with an infuriated Zach…whatever his last name is.

That's sad, considering I had found out from Liz-discreetly-that he was also a senior.

_I've never seen him before throughout my six years here…_

I had knocked over the piano bench and sank into the corner of the room. It only took him three strides to reach me, towering high above me as I realized just how tall he really was.

"Well? Are you going to answer me?" he asked with his dark eyes burning into my head.

_He has the same look she gets when…_

"D-Don't…I-I'm s-sorry," I let out a sob and shielded my head with my arms locked around my head in the only defensive position I knew. I sunk to the floor, awaiting some sort of pain.

"Y-you…You told me not to p-play the piano! I w-won't play dad's p-piano again! D-Don't hurt me!" I cried out and tensed.

All I could see was red behind my eyes as my ears roared and my heart beat rapidly in my chest. I could remember the punches to my ribs, the hands gripping my arms and screamed.

When I realized it was merely a memory and I had not yet received my punishment, I glanced up to see Zach's petrified expression.

He slowly kneeled down to me, holding his hands up in the universal "WHOA THERE" sign.

He silently peered at me in concern, all of the anger had long dissipated and I squeezed my eyes shut in trepidation that it would appear again.

"D-Don't…hurt me…I swear…I w-won't play again!" I pulled my knees to my chest to try and shy away further into the corner.

"Why would I hurt you?" his voice came out unsteady and I glanced up at him, my tears drying but my breathing still rapid.

"I…" I stared at the door to the soundproof room and realized my mistake.

I wasn't home. This wasn't my mother.

I stood up quickly, my face flushed and pressed myself to the wall to try to turn invisible under his gaze.

I went to my happy place.

I was dancing, pique arabesque. Grande battement. Tour jete. Hands moving in fluid motions with my feet. My movements graceful, as I only know how.

Epitome of elegance, Miss Jacques would say.

I felt him move closer until we were inches apart.

"Where's your dorm?" he asks quietly until I here him snort and whisper, "never mind, I know."

I opened my eyes and whispered back-despite the soundproof room-and said, "Why…?"

He sighs, eyeing my bag right beside one of the piano legs and slides the strap over his shoulder and replies, "Let me take you back…you can…explain on the way."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

We walk across campus in silence as I texted Liz a message.

_Had to go back to dorm. C U tomoro. –C_

I sighed as I put my cell back in my pocket and fiddled with my fingers. I wasn't used to this, talking with someone other than my usual three friends that weren't in Dance Major.

Or maybe I just wasn't used to talking to guys other than Josh.

That's why I took a deep breath when he stopped in front of me halfway to my dorm and eyed me curiously.

"Why were you in the music studio," he asks, seemingly trying to keep his temper in check.

I narrow my eyes a bit, confidence seeping back into me, "Helping my composer with our demos," I tried to steady my voice but cringed out how weak I sounded. So much for confidence.

He nods in understanding and shoves his hands into his pockets, eyeing me suspiciously. I could see the lingering anger in his eyes and the pain. Though, there was something else I couldn't place.

"Why do you hate me?" I ask suddenly, catching us both off guard.

His eyes widen for a few moments before they return normal and he shakes his head, "I don't…_hate _you…necessarily," he grumbles and pulls on the strap of his guitar on one shoulder and my dance bag on the other.

I felt the tears well up in my eyes again, "What did I ever do to you?"

He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes and rakes a hand through his dark hair.

Everything about him is dark.

Like an emo-soul jazz musician.

Or a sad painting of a boy and his guitar with those dark eyes.

"I guess it's not you personally, but it's your whole group. Behind that innocent act you're playing up right now is a heartless slut," his words are like knives cutting into me and I feel the knots in my chest burst as my palm strikes the side of his face.

"ASSHOLE! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME!" I grab my dance bag off his shoulder and turn to leave.

I'm in front of my dorm building when I grip my bag to dig through it to retrieve my keys.

I stumble into my room, ignoring Macey's snores as I fall on my bed and instantly fall asleep to continuous nightmares filled with my past and now, Zach.

And those dark, pain filled eyes.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

I sit in Northside Studio B, the one place where all of my burdens slip away and I am able to focus on the one thing I love. The only thing I know.

I'm practicing my solo, my own piano playing from the previous night is playing on the stereo as I stare at my costume I will be wearing the day of the auditions.

It was the costume that the White Swan wore in Swan Lake from the previous year's performance.

It was a white, frayed tutu that was beaded with different fake jewels that trailed up the torso and the silver embroidery. The leotard flattered my chest and the silver material exposed my back. My hair was in a tight bun, I didn't bother putting anything other than my lucky hair clip on my hair while I practiced by myself in the empty studio.

I stood in the middle of the glass floor-which was waxed to prevent slipping-staring at myself as I stood poised and ready to begin.

My movements started timidly as my character would grow more familiar as time went on in the story. I turned in fouettes, gradually into an axel. I lifted my leg straight up until it touched my nose as my other foot was on full pointe, slowly turning until I faced the other direction. My leg shifted until it was out straight behind me, my torso leaned back as my other foot still stood on full pointe.

One arm was poised in front while the other leaned back, parallel to my leg.

Epitome of elegance.

My front arm slowly lowered as my back leg pointed to the glass ceiling and my fingers brushed the glass floor.

I didn't register how my fingers felt damp after they had grazed the glass floor. I didn't have time to contemplate as the beat in the music signaled for me to turn into the Italian Fouettes sequence.

I didn't register when my foot on full pointe buckled forward, searing pain shot through my calf as my turning momentum caused me to land with my other leg bent beneath my back, my once elegant arms tried to break my fall but landed behind me with a snap.

I was only conscious a few moments longer to see movement come from the window that connected Studio B to Studio C.

And that I felt broken.

My eyes looked at the mirrors, getting a 360 view of my broken body lying in a heap in the middle of the dance floor that was once my center of peace.

I looked up at the glass ceiling, letting the rays of the sun hit me before everything went black and my piano playing faded in the distance.

Shakespeare once said: "When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that."

But I could no longer move. I could no longer do what I love. And I realized what I was at that moment.

A broken swan.

And that is how my life started to crumble.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

**A.N. HEY GUYS! So, I got this idea from when I was reminiscing about my twelve years of dance, but I had to quit a year ago because of joint problems it caused. So, this story is a BIT darker than what I've done in the past, but it gets lighter later on, with a little angst. **

**Anyways, TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT, because I have two other stories I'm working on, and I will not update this if I don't get enough response. **

**Thanks, ~Akira **


	2. Intentional Accidents

**Chapter Two: Horrible Truths and Greetings**

_How does it feel_

_To treat me like you do_

_When you've laid laid your hands upon me_

_And told me who you are_

_I thought I was mistaken_

_I thought I heard your words_

_Tell me how do I feel_

_Tell me now how do I feel_

_Those who came before me_

_Lived through their vocations_

_From the past until completion_

_They will turn away no more_

_(Blue Monday-New Order)_

**~Cammie Morgan, Boston Kaiser Permamente~**

I dreamed of my father. We were playing a duet-Heart and Soul-glancing at each other as we played.

When the song finished, he pulled me into his side and kissed my temple.

"The secret of success is to be in harmony with existence, to be always calm to let each wave of life wash us a little farther up the shore," he whispers into my ear.

"What do you mean, Dad?" I ask, letting his warm presence fill me, drink it in before I had to let go, again.

"Life is not an easy path to venture, but you have to go through it with your head held high and a warm soul to pull you through. You will remember what I say, yes?" he asks and I nod.

His soft light brown hair and sea green eyes shimmer in the light and I have to ask a question that I was too afraid to ask while he was alive.

"Dad…why does mom hate me? don't tell me she doesn't…because I know she does," I lean over the piano bench in anticipation as he turns to play a lullaby he used to play when I was little. It always calmed my nerves and stopped the flow of my tears.

It was his silent way of telling me he loves me, and to not be afraid.

Or to shut up, but the aforementioned sounds subtler.

After a moment of silence he says, "She was ambitious. She lived for dance much like you," his long fingers fly over the keys and it seems almost automatic of how all of his emotions are represented in his playing.

The sound is sad, yet faithful. Beautiful yet pain is ebbed between those chords.

"Once that was taken away from her, it destroyed her. Not to sound melodramatic, but it killed her entire being, way of life."

I closed my eyes but reopened them in fear that he would disappear if I did so for too long.

"Cammie," he says and I look back towards him and notice he is no longer playing, "I want you to be different. If such a thing were to ever happen to you, I want you to find beauty in the other things in life. I want you to discover happiness in everything you do…" he stops and looks ahead, "Your mother could not find happiness or love in anything else…I was…lost in her eyes."

My eyes widen in surprise at this, "Dad.."

"You remember what I said earlier, yes?" he asks turning back to brush his fingers over the top of the piano.

"Yes…" I say almost pained.

I wasn't alone. I wasn't the only one no longer loved.

My father was also blamed…

_It was all your fault, Cammie. Yours alone._

"I'm so sorry, Dad," I reached for his hand that lay on his thigh when he shook his head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Cammie," he says quietly, "If anyone, I should be sorry."

He started to play a C-Note over and over in a steady beat.

Thump Thump.

Thump Thump.

Thump Thump.

"Why?" I ask incredulously.

"Because I've failed to protect you."

Before I could deny him, his image disappeared and with a deep inhale of air I didn't know I'd been holding, I woke up to the same sound as before.

Thump Thump.

Thump Thump.

Thump Thump.

"Hurry with the morphine, she's becoming conscious again…no not too much, we need her conscious."

I tried to open my eyes, and when I did, translucent lights blinded me for a few seconds before they adjusted.

The next events came in a flash as I felt my head pounding, my right leg was held up in a sling and it felt like acid flowed through my veins. I glanced down to look at it and saw that my knee was swollen to the size of a cantaloupe. My other leg felt numb and when I tried to move it, I yelped at the sharp pain that was met with my feeble attempts. Both of my wrists were in braces and an IV was stitched into my right arm. Then I realized that there were several other IVs and machines monitoring me.

Thump Thump Thump .

Thump Thump Thump.

"Ms. Morgan? We need you to take deep, calm breaths now. I'm Dr. Ricci and you are in the ICU at Kaiser Permanente," the doctor says and I nod, still pretty drowsy.

"What…what happened?" I ask and my throat feels scratchy and dry.

"You were found in a dance room on the floor by your friend Victoria Walters," he says sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed and it makes me sad to know that there's no one here to wait for me in that chair.

And I felt compelled to tell this Dr. Ricci guy that Victoria Walters was not my friend.

But that wouldn't have been very good.

It must be the drugs talking.

"What…What's wrong with me?" I ask with a gulp and remember my dad's words.

"_Because I've failed to protect you." _

The doctor sighs, I'm guessing he was going to sugar coat this part before I asked.

"Let's go down the list then, shall we?" he asks exasperated and reaches for the chart at my feet, "You have a pretty darn good concussion, both of your wrists are sprained, you had a tiny crack in your 7th rib on the right side that we were permitted to go through surgery when you first arrived, you've fractured your left tibia, and tore your ACL in the right leg and broke three toes in your right foot."

I gasped at how long that list was and tears filled my eyes. Ignoring the numbing pain, I brought one hand up to my mouth and cried.

How could this have happened? I've fallen while on point plenty of times…but, nothing this bad has ever happened.

"Frankly, you're lucky that you didn't puncture your lung and there are no signs of internal bleeding. We did and MRI and CT scan for your concussion and it looks like the inflammation is down…"

He proceeds to ask me different questions, like my name, where I go to school, when I was born and where I grew up. I answer all of them so he resulted that I didn't show symptoms of amnesia or head trauma.

Then he informs me that not only did they perform surgery on my rib, but also my left leg that now had pins holding my tibia together and a hard cast in place as well as a Velcro torso brace for my rib.

"But, your school insurance does not cover for an ACL reconstruction surgery, which is what I would recommend for you," he says pulling the clipboard down to look at me. he adjust his glasses and sighs.

"We've contacted your mother who lives in Boston. She would not give consent over the phone so we asked her to come down to the hospital."

My breathing hitched and fear crawled up my spine. She would be here. She would come and see me…broken and vulnerable. She would tell me what a disappointment I was. How worthless I am.

Dr. Ricci reached out for my left arm and I immediately flinched. I looked up at him in horror as red flashed between my eyes.

Her rage was apparent as she grabbed a belt from the closet and whipped it across my back, stomach, legs, arms…

"Ms. Morgan…everything personal that we discuss here is confidential, you know this, yes?" he asks and for a moment it reminds me of my father.

I whisper a "yes," because it hurts to nod my head.

"On the X-Rays…we saw a history of muscle bruises and gashes on your back, and abdomen…now at first my partners and I believed it was just do to the fact that you are a dancer and that you dance intensively at Armonia School for the Youth…but I've had such patients who are dancers and their scars don't…well, they don't show signs of struggle or are nearly as deep as your scar tissues."

My face hardens, a mask if you will, as I realize what he's suggesting.

"Ms. Morgan, you can confide in me. Has your mother been abusing you?" I flinch at his words and he says, "even if you deny, I can clearly see the signs. You flinch in you sleep, did you know that? If you weren't injured and if you weren't held down, you would've crawled into a fetal position during surgery. Your subconscious was trying to protect you, which tells me that this has been going on for some time," he looks down at the chart again and looks up, "You looked petrified when I mentioned your mother and you flinched when I tried to check the IV fluid in your arm just now."

I look down and close my eyes.

_I have to deny it. I have to deny everything._

"I'm not being abused by my own _mother _Dr. Ricci!" I clench my jaw and take deep breaths, "I'm merely a huge klutz, that's all. That's how I got all of these injuries. I made a mistake and tripped over my own two feet," I would've thrown my arms in the air, but…well, you know.

"Ms. Morgan…" Dr. Ricci sighs and I realize he does that a lot. He looks exhausted when he says, "Your accident was no accident. Security cameras show a blurred figure rubbing off the wax of the glass floors and mopping water afterwards, coincidentally before you walk into the studio. The figure reappears by the window and watches you as you dance and slip on the damp floor then disappears. Ms. Morgan, your accident was planned."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

"Cammie darling…I'm afraid you won't be able to come to practice for awhile," Miss Jacques says.

"But that's not possible!" I say when I actually realize the result of my injuries, "I have the auditions in two weeks, and I need to practice for the winter and spring performances! I have several scouts coming to watch," I beg her but my voice gives out at the end. She hands me a glass of water and I down it within seconds.

"I know, lassie, but a fractured leg, torn ACL…even if it does heal properly you…you won't be able to dance this year," Miss Jacques sits down on the side of my bed.

I feel a tear slip down my cheek and quickly wipe it away, "What am I supposed to do? Dance is my Art Major and the scholarship-"

"Hush, Cammie, Principal Buckingham and the Boards will schedule a meeting to figure out all of this," she looks down and says, "Not to seem like I favor certain students, but, these past six years has given me the honor of being your dance teacher. I see all of you girls more like daughters to me," her French accent is heavy as she speaks.

"God knows I've accumulated more white hairs than I can count after all these years, but to see one of you get hurt like this…and so _young_," she takes in a deep breath and smooths back my hair.

"All will be fine in the end, Lassie," she pats my cheek and stands to leave the hospital room.

I turn away from her as she steps out the door. I stare intently out of the hospital window and just…think.

No more dance.

To me, that's unthinkable.

I've been dancing since the mere age of three. Fifteen years of my life…just, wasted. And my scholarship? My dreams? All of my life's ambitions.

The blood, sweat, and tears that I've spilled for the incredibly beautiful sport will be for what?

Nothing.

I wanted to cry out loud. I wanted to stomp my foot on the ground and tell them that I wouldn't quit. I would never quit. I wanted to ball my fists and punch someone, something, anything.

I wanted to rewind today. I wanted to go back before I got up early to get Northside Studio B to myself, I wanted to rewind before I broke down in front of Zach.

But it was too late. The world was still moving forward, even if in slow motion.

Everything stopped for a moment as the door to the hospital room slammed open, my mother stormed in, Dr. Ricci trailing behind, and me…well, that's when I finally found my ability to cry.

"I'm s-sorry mom! I'm…sorry!" I cried and touched one of my bandaged wrist to my bandaged forehead.

But she wasn't paying attention to me. No, she was arguing with Dr. Ricci.

"Give us a moment alone!" my mother shouted.

"It would be best if I stay in here to go over her injuries with the both of you," Dr. Ricci suggests.

"She is _my _daughter, and I will _sue _your ass and this damned hospital if you do not give us moments of privacy," she spits in his face. No, not literally.

Dr. Ricci looks to me and back to my mother and picks up my clipboard, "I can only give you five minutes before we start Cammie on her next cycle of IVs, and then we will discuss the issue of the ACL reconstruction surgery, plus rehab for the next 6 to 9 months."

Six to nine months?

My mother agrees halfheartedly and practically slams the door in his face. She stalks towards me slowly. Her dark brown hair is in a bun and she wears jeans and a loose T-shirt. Her cane makes thumps as she comes to the side of my bed, towering over me and gazing at my broken body.

Her face gives nothing away as she says, "You were not supposed to get injured like this."

I flinch slightly under her gaze but it causes pain since the pain meds are wearing off.

"I'm so sorry mom. I was dancing but then slipped while-"

"YOU STUPID GIRL!" she yells and makes a fist in front of her face, "This is all your damn fault!"

I try to close my eyes, I want to close my eyes or look away from her, but my gaze is fixated on her. I can't look away because I know the consequences.

There are so many painful consequences.

She paces for a bit but then stops abruptly in front of me and points her finger at me, "You will dance again. Once you get the fucking surgery, you will go straight back to that school, you will dance and regain your strength, and you will go to Julliard, and you better fucking get to Broadway."

"But Dr. Ricci said rehab will take-"

"FORGET ABOUT DAMN DR. RICCI! YOU DON'T NEED NO FUCKING REHAB!"

I flinch back into the confines of my hospital bed and the tears come freely now.

And I hate that I let myself cry in front of her. It makes me feel even weaker than I already am.

And I hate it.

She grips her cane tighter, "I'm the one who needs rehab and Physical Therapy," she eyes me again and says, "Don't fail me, girl."

The creaking of the door alerted us of my nurse's presence. My mother told us to give us a minute until they drugged me up again. So my mother turned back to me, "I'll go talk to that doctor about the insurance. The money is coming out of your savings account," she sneers and turns out the door.

But, she stops and turns back one last time, "I'll come visit in one month. If these damn doctors are keeping you in PT and rehab and you are NOT dancing…I'm dragging your crippled ass back home so I can get your fat butt working."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

It was a good thing that I was on the first floor of the dorm. Being a senior, we get first pick at any of the rooms in the building. The bottom floor room are bigger, come with our own bathrooms, and has a great view of the Southside Masen Theater that always held performances, practices, auditions, and the Friday Movie Nights.

I was currently waiting in the hospital room in a wheel cast on my left leg, a brace for my swollen right leg, broken rib, and sprained wrists.

Apparently, when my leg on point buckled forward, that put strain on my ACL as well as the momentum from my turning torso. My left leg, which was in a bent position as I fell, landed first before my back hit the ground, bending it in a weird position as I fell. Instincts took over as I tried to break my fall, my hands going behind me to break my fall before my head hit the glass, but obviously not enough to give me less than a mild concussion.

That's what they got from security cameras.

But there had been someone else on the security tapes. It was an old edition of security cameras, too fuzzy to make out the face. The person was tall, wearing unisexual clothes that were too baggy to really tell if it was a girl or boy. They wore a hood, working quickly until rushing out once hearing me open the door to the studio.

It looked suspicious; at least that was what they told me.

Macey, Bex, and Liz had called myself yesterday after the nurse gave me my daily doses of medicine. They wish they could come and visit me in the hospital, but of course, they had to go to classes. Macey would be auditioning, Bex would be showcasing her art work from the summer, and Liz would be entering her compositions to compete for the winter performance.

And what would I be doing?

I still don't know.

I would be going back to school today, rest in my room until I met with Buckingham and the rest of the Board tomorrow morning.

I could already tell that the next week would be hell.

And there were my mother's threats to consider.

What would I do if they refused to let me practice after my surgery in a week? Of course I would need a couple of days to recuperate, but then I would need to be back at the school fitness center. I would need to be back and in that dance room with the other seniors or else…I would lose the scholarship.

Then I would go back home to mother.

No, that can't happen.

"Cam?" the door opens and I see Josh walk through the door. "I'm here to pick you up," he says and stands nervously beside my wheelchair.

"Oh, thanks," I say and he nods slightly.

After a moment of awkward silence I fidget with the clothes they found in my dance bag the day of the accident. I wore my favorite sweatpants and one of my dad's shirts.

"Look…we need to talk," Josh says and sits in the chair next to me.

"About what?" I ask curiously and felt my eyes water again at those dreadful words a girl could ever hear her boyfriend say.

"I can't do this anymore," he starts off and I rub my sweaty fingers against my sweatpants. "We need to break up."

I wipe at my wet eyes and ask, "Why?"

"Because I don't love you anymore. It's been like this for awhile now, you know. And now that you're…you're like…this," he gestures toward my crippled body that even I don't recognize as my own.

"I didn't mean why are you breaking up with me!" I yell and he freezes, "Why now. I know you've been cheating on me. Why now? When I'm…like _this!" _I turn away from him and close my eyes tight so he wouldn't see the turmoil of emotions in them.

"Because I can't deal with a disabled girlfriend! You can't dance anymore…" he shrugs and says, "You're kind of worthless now. And I can't…can't deal with this. It's not my burden. You're not my burden anymore."

He laughs and says, "Now whenever I'm with some other girl your face won't be haunting me."

"I'm sure I was the farthest from your mind while you slept around. Don't pretend that you cared," I mutter and felt another knot tightening in my chest, "I really did love you in the beginning," I say and he just smirks a bit, "Now I know what a pretentious bastard you are."

His smirk falls and he gets out of his chair.

"Be grateful I even gave your ugly face the time of day, bitch."

The door slams behind him as I stare out the window to see the last signs of summer fade into a new Fall.

Sobs break through me, but they're not for Josh. They're for what my life has become in a mere three days. Things are changing rapidly and I can barely keep myself above water.

I roll myself over to retrieve my bag with all of my medicines inside. I reach for my phone and call for a taxi to pick me up, making sure that they can wheel my wheelchair inside the van.

I go down to the reception desk and check out of the hospital. They give me a pamphlet about the procedures and how to prepare before and after my ACL reconstruction surgery scheduled in a week.

Once the taxi van arrives and they manage to get me inside, I take out my phone to call Macey to meet me at Armonia in front of our dorm building.

_I'll be there Cam. Again, I'm so sorry. ~M_

_No need to be. ~C_

I sigh and lean back into the seat of the taxi and close my eyes.

I take a moment to regain my thoughts before I go back to Armonia. Knowing that there was someone there that had to absolutely hate my guts, frightened me. I never personally did anything to anyone. I tried to stay out of the way, watching silently maybe.

I didn't want more heartache. I got enough of that at home during holidays. I didn't want to stand out too much, and though I was recognized as one of the top dancers Armonia has had, I was never very popular. People have heard of me, they see me around, but I kept to myself. Never boasting my passion for the sport I love.

But when I arrived at Armonia, peace was the opposite of what I got. I had a furious mother at home, just a couple hundred miles away. My boyfriend of two years used me and dumped me.

And the worst part?

I could no longer go to my happy place. I no longer had a safe haven within Northside Studio B. I could no longer just slip on my pointe shoes and lose myself in the music.

I was broken.

When I was able to get myself out of the van and into my wheelchair, I maneuvered along the path to get to my dorm. I could feel there stares as I rolled by.

I heard comments such as: 'That's really too bad. I heard she won't be able to dance again.' Or, 'It serves her right. She was just as much of a bitch as Victoria.'

But I felt too numb to stop and yell at them for unwanted sympathy, harsh words…or the truth.

Because I dreaded the truth.

I wouldn't bring myself to think about it because I know I'm not prepared to face it yet.

I just…can't.

Luckily, Macey was right in front of the dorm when I got there, just as she promised. I really wished that I could meet with Bex and Liz too, but just because I'm in a wheelchair didn't change the fact that Victoria would still find out. That if I had any chance at recovery and putting everything behind me, I couldn't risk it.

It was for the best, even though it hurt.

My dance bag that was in my lap started to feel like rocks against my thighs and it got harder and harder to breathe.

"Cammie!" Macey came running over in her combat boots, ballet tights under cotton short and a T-shirt. Her hair was tied into a messy bun and her nose ring reflected off the sun.

I didn't realize she was crying until she managed to hug me around the shoulders while I was still sitting in the wheelchair.

"Oh my God, you don't know how scared I was when I found you on the floor unconscious!" she cries and I hug her back as best I can without putting myself in too much pain.

Her own backpack falls into my lap and I grunt with the extra weight.

"Mace!" I cry and she jumps back.

"God, I'm sorry…I don't do well with injured people…I forget my own strength and I don't want to…move anything or whatever," she grimaces and I laugh a bit.

"Don't be scared of the cripple, Mace," I say flatly, "it's still me, just in a wheelchair."

She shakes her head, "Still, I don't want to hurt you."

"It's too late for that anyways," I shrug and she scowls at me for being so blunt.

Whatever, I tell it like it is.

"Let me take your bag," she says throwing it over one shoulder and grabbing the handles on my wheelchair and pushing us through the door to our room.

I sigh with relief as we enter our room and Macey rolls me over to the bed.

"So, I bought some extra pillows for you just in case if you need some to prop up your legs or something," she says nonchalantly as I stare blankly at the mountain of pillows stacked on my bed.

I turn to her and ask, "The Senator?"

She rolls her eyes and says, "Yes, the Senator paid for this," she laughs and says, "I ask 'Daddy Dearest' for pillows for my injured roommate and he starts this monologue about my incompetence and 'dance is not a career'."

I grunt in disgust since in the inside I can sympathize with her and our mommy-daddy-issues. Plus, I just don't want to talk right now.

I adjust the pillows a bit before I grip the side of the bed to face plant onto my soft bed.

_So much better than hospital beds._

"Mmm," I sigh contently and Macey snickers.

"I could've helped, you know," she raises a brow as I maneuver my limp legs to rest on the pillows and lay on my back.

"I can get around myself," I roll my eyes, "You know me: independent."

_Plus I needed to improve before mother comes in a month._

I think to myself.

"You don't need to do everything by yourself. I'm here to help whenever," she sit down in her desk chair with her arms crossed, "Cause, you know, that's what friends do."

I look up at the ceiling and shake my head, "That's not what I meant Mace. I'm just a little overwhelmed and it scares me that I don't know what's going to happen."

Macey squirms in her seat. She was always uncomfortable when it comes to comforting.

Oh, the irony.

"Buckingham made an announcement yesterday," Macey says abruptly and I stare at her confused, "She said that if anyone had any information on who cause your accident would have to contact her immediately."

I adjust the straps on my wrist brace as I comment, "I already have my suspicions."

"What do you mean?" she asks, scooting her chair closer.

"It was probably Victoria, you know," I laugh but you couldn't detect any humor as I continued, "She might've caught us with Bex and Liz, she was suspicious before and you remember what she did to that eighth grader last year…"

Macey shudders at the memory of the poor girl and quickly changes the subject, although I don't know how much better it was.

"I heard about what happened with Josh…actually everybody probably know about it now."

I groan and run my hands through my hair.

"You know he dumped me because I'm a cripple now?" I grit my teeth and bang my fist on the bed and immediately regret it but try to hide it.

"First of all: he is an asshole. Second: you are no cripple, just temporarily disabled. You will get better. Third: don't try to hide your pain, I see you biting your lip over there!" she laughs at my antics which just pisses me off even more.

"Yes, it's all very funny, but if you don't mind, I'm gonna' bask in the softness of this Temperpedic bed," I close my eyes and hear Macey mutter something intelligible before climbing into her own bed.

I fall asleep to my friend's snores.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

"I'M NOT CHANGING MY ART MAJOR!" I yell at the old people who are all sitting with coffee mugs in their hands and their stuffy noses in the air.

We're currently sitting in Principal Buckingham's office the following morning of my arrival back at Armonia.

So far, I've managed to ignore the stares as the new school's cripple, and headed to my regular classes this morning before the meeting when I _should _be in a Jazz Lyrical Intensive right now.

Principal Buckingham's office was filled with pictures of past students that were prodigies of the staff and have gone off to make it big. Her desk was in the main room, but it also connected to a conference room with one long table that had Buckingham at one end with me at the other and six old people who really should be admitted into an elder's shelter.

Or maybe a hearing aid?

One of those Sonic Hearing Devices?

Seriously, I'm tired of repeating myself.

"We are sorry Miss Cameron, but you will not be able to dance this year because of your injuries," a man says and adjusts his heirloom glasses onto the tip of his nose.

"ACL tears are very crucial and you will never be able to dance the same again, despite PT and rehab and after six to nine months of recovery," he entwines his fingers together and says, "Nonetheless, you will not be able to participate as a dancer this year at Armonia. And, if you wish to keep you full scholarship, you will have to choose a different Art Major."

A silent tear slips down and I wipe it with my bandaged palm before biting my quivering lip.

"Please, you have to let me continue to dance after my surgery. I'll be able to handle it and…and I need those scouts to see me or else…God," I place my hands over my face and do my best to pull myself together.

I can't do this…

Mother can't take me away…

I have a week to convince them that I will be able to recover quickly without rehab. I could dance with braces on my legs…I could…I can…

_But that's impossible. _

The knot inside me winds tighter as I except this fact and dread surges through me.

_Either way, she'll drag me back home. _

_I can't go back home…I just…can't. _

"I'm sorry Miss Morgan, but for now, until you decide which major you want to pursue for the year, you will have a student mentor from Art and Music to guide you," another old lady that I don't recognize says. "We've talked this through before."

"You were our best dancer, Cameron, I'm not going to lie," Patricia Buckingham finally speaks after some time and stands to open the door for me, "It's a great loss for us to see this happen to you at your peak…but there will be other chances. Trust me."

And I don't believe her.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

"Bex?" I ask and hug my friend as she greets me outside of the Eastside building entrance. "You're my guide?"

"Mm," she smiles as she straightens back up and takes hold of the handles of my wheelchair. "How'd it go with Victoria? Did she dump you as her minion?"

I grimace at the memory but nod my head.

"_Cammie, how absolutely awful! You look like you went to Hell and back!" she chuckles as she sees me in the Mess Hall at our usual table. I didn't know whether I should sit here or not, not knowing how my injuries would affect Victoria's 'image'. _

_And all that crap._

"_Thanks, V," I mutter and play around with the food on my plate. She looks too happy to see me like this. I knew it was her…who else would do this? _

_If I wasn't in a wheelchair, I would pummel her to the floor._

_Or maybe I could roll over her toes…_

"_Listen, I heard that you won't be able to dance this year and you have to hang out with those Art and Music people so…well, you should probably move over to their dorms. Kay?" she wipes back a wisp of hair that came loose from her bun._

"_No, Victoria, Macey and I are perfectly happy continuing to be roommates like we have for the past, what, five, six, years?" I roll my chair back and 'accidently' roll over her newly painted toes. _

"_OWW!" she yelps and I can't help but smile and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I cripple you? You may have to quit dance for your senior year too and move in with the Music dorm!" I feign sympathy and that earns me snickers from all over the Mess Hall. _

_Victoria glares at me and says, "You'll regret this, Cammie. Get out of my table!" _

"_Let me grab my food first!" I smile and roll my chair forward again, rolling over her toes again. _

_She cries out in pain as I roll away with my tray of food in my lap. _

_I head over to the table where Bex and Liz are sitting when a mess of dark hair that I recognize comes into my peripheral, staring at me with a blank gaze. _

"I figured as much when you rolled over her toes in the Mess Hall!" she guffaws as we roll into one of the rooms with easels set up in any available spot.

"Ah, home," Bex grins and fans out her arms as she sits at one of the easels. "Just sit at that blank one I've set up and trace the image I drew as a starter for you…"

She begins to explain the many ways you can blend colors and how to be as creative and spontaneous as possible and I realize that this is Bex's safe haven. This is where she calls home. This, right here, is Bex.

I continue to paint one stroke over and over again as I think of the first dance choreography I ever learned.

I was a gingersnap in the Nutcracker and mother was teaching the class, focusing on me as much as possible. I remember Dad coming to the performance and how I stopped in the middle of the dance because I couldn't spot him. I ended up bawling my eyes out in front of everyone until my mother came a retrieved me off of the stage.

"Cam?" Bex pokes me in the side with the other end of the paint brush.

"Sorry," I jolt back up in my wheelchair and stir my brush in the water to blend the colors, "I guess I just spaced out."

"This class is over now, actually," Bex tells me and takes off her apron.

"What class was this?" I ask realizing I really wasn't paying attention at all.

"Freestyle, Cam," Bex laughs and shakes her head, "tomorrow we're working on restoring this really old movie back drop that was shipped out from LA! They were going to throw away the bloody thing before Mr. Duncan offered to take it off their hands."

She looks so excited and I can't help but at least fake enthusiasm for one of my best friends.

"Where you off to next?" Bex asks ash she rolls me back outside.

"Southside buildings to meet my other mentor," I roll my eyes.

"Ya need me to roll ya there?" she asks with a sly grin and know she's gonna try to play pretend-Cammie's-wheelchair-is-a-racecar game.

"Nah, I got it," I grunt as I push my way down the ramp of the building and wave, "I'll see ya at lunch?"

"Definitely!"

It's peaceful as I literally stroll my way past the garden that I could no longer squeeze into and Masen Theater until I got to the Southside building.

Buckingham said that both mentors would meet me outside of their respective buildings to help me up the ramp since I still haven't gotten used to it yet.

I waited outside of the Southside building for five minutes after the time classes were supposed to start until I hear the door open and close behind me.

"Cammie Morgan?"

I freeze and turn my chair around to take a glimpse up at those dark eyes.

"We haven't formally met…I'm gonna be your mentor, so…"

He balances from one foot to the other before he says:

"I'm Zach Goode."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

**A.N. Thank you for all of the reviews and the support for this little story! I kinda sorta left you on a cliffhanger there so REVIEW and tell me what you thought. **

**Is it too long? **

**Or, heavens….to SHORT? **

**~Akira**


	3. IMPORTANT AN!

**Sorry this is not a chapter. **

**Please, take the poll on my profile if you _want _this to be a chapter!**

**Sorry that I'm doing this but I would like to know what you guys want to read the most. Since school is starting again, it will be hard for me to update everything.**

**Thanks for your support and patience with me!**

**~Akira**


	4. Change of Heart

**Chapter Three**

_There's a possibility _

_There's a possibility_

_All I gonna get is gone with your step _

_All I gonna get is gone with your stare_

_So tell me when you hear my heart stop_

_You're the only one that knows_

_Tell me when you hear my silence_

_There's a possibility I would't know_

_mmmmmmmmmmmmmm_

_Know that when you leave_

_Know that when you leave_

_By blood and by me, you walk like a thief,_

_By blood and by me, and I fall when you leave_

_So tell me when you hear my heart stop_

_You're the only one that knows_

_(Possibility~Lykke Li)_

At Armonia, it is not uncommon to come across to people as prejudice. In fact, some people's egos depend on it. Some say that by deprecating others helps to build your own self-esteem, build up confidence within yourself to be able to preform better.

And then there are the Art and Music Majors who flip the rest of us off saying, "The Hell," to the world.

Because they don't care what others think. It's not like they don't have pressure, because Bex would often cram projects in the night before an auction, but they don't have judges criticizing every single move you make. If an artist makes a mistake, they can brush over it, blend it into the painting and make it out to be some form of symbolism. Musicians, they make a mistake, and it either goes unnoticed or they're able to recover without relapse.

Dancers can't make mistakes. We make one mistake and it's distorted and blatantly noticeable. There's no easy way to flow right back into the choreography because everything is constantly moving and on slip up, one face-plant to the floor, and you're done. The whole trance you've charmed the audience with is shattered; the story comes to an abrupt end.

You're done. Finished. Gone.

It's because of this intensity, or rather fear, that some resort to prejudice. And it's with that prejudice that rumors spread and there is hate and corruption and division.

That's why when I looked up at the dark brooding figure that once instilled fear inside of me, I stumbled with the breaks on my chair, my eyes widened and gasped all at once so that I looked like a freaking goldfish.

I'm the epitome of smooth.

"C-Cammie…" I squeaked in reply and held my breath, waiting for him to snap like he did the other night and for his green eyes to darken with anger.

"Um, yeah, I know who you are," he says walking tentatively towards my chair to help roll me up the ramp.

I felt his fingers lightly brush my shoulders as he grabbed the handlebars and shivered slightly. My cheeks burning red with embarrassment as I remembered how I broke down in front of him, a complete stranger.

I stare down in my lap, playing with the Velcro brace on my right leg, and tapping my fingers on the hard cast of my left.

"How did you injure both legs?" Zach suddenly asks from behind me.

I blush even more as I say, "Gravity is a bitch."

He laughs loudly from behind and I turn to see his head thrown back as he laughs, making me shudder slightly at the sound of it.

_Great, _I think, _now he thinks you're a stuttering klutz. _

"I thought dancers were supposed to be graceful," he asks and I expect it to sound condescending like every other word he's spat at me in the past. But it doesn't. It sounds remorseful.

"Yeah, well…" I mumble and start to play with the Velcro again as he wheels me down hallways. There was an awkward silence the rest of the way as I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound stupid.

But before I could say anything, we stopped and he leaned forward to open the door to a small room with a piano on one side of it. He wheeled my chair next to the piano bench and stuck his hands in his pockets as he came into my view again.

"Aren't we supposed to go to a class or something?" I ask because I honestly know nothing about how the Music department works.

"The only time all of us are together is when we have orchestra practice once a week depending on your instrument and chair," he explains and sits on the fold up chair in the corner.

"So then what are we doing here?" I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow at him.

He looks at me warily and sighs, "Look, I told Mr. Steiner that you already played the piano so you wouldn't get stuck with the something stupid like the symbols," he smirks a bit, "I'm not sitting here everyday with you and listening to that."

"I'm not going to be here very long, so why does it matter?" I asked while putting the breaks on the wheelchair.

"I don't understand," he looks up at the ceiling, "They said you'd be here the rest of the year."

"Well I'm not. Right after my surgery I'm going back to dance."

He looks back at me with his hands curled around his neck, "Sure," he snorts and shakes his head, "Whatever you say, Princess."

I narrow my eyes at him and open my mouth to call him names that wouldn't be so 'princess-like' before he cuts me off.

"Just get on the piano and start playing," he waves a hand in the direction of the bench.

My mind was reeling with a million things at that point. I don't play the piano in front of anybody anymore. I don't play in front of crowds and I don't ever practice with an orchestra. And I definitely do not play in front of Zach. The last time he listened, he insulted me and practically bit my head off and sent me into a panic attack.

"No." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What?" he asks confused, "No what?"

"No, I can't play the piano."

Rolling his eyes he says, "Course you can. I heard you the other day…"

"I'm not playing in front of you!" I said, my voice raising.

"Well too bad, cause we're doing this everyday," he says simply, shrugging.

That's it? A shrug?

He gets furious and starts throwing things around when I played the first time. Now he's saying that he's going to work with me everyday?

"Why are you even doing this? You can't stand to be around me, so why are you putting up with me everyday?" I wrap my uninjured arm around my middle, feeling the brace around my torso.

Zach slumps in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Community Service," he growls and I stare at him as he stretches his long legs out, the hem of his T-shirt exposing some of his skin and I quickly look away, blushing of course.

"You know what? Fine. Whatever, I don't care," he drops his hand form his face and stands up with a hand running through his hair, "Choose Art as your Major or whatever."

I suddenly feel sorry for arguing with him when it was his job to work with me. I could feel myself starting to give in to him.

"But if you change your mind and stop acting like a spoiled brat…this room, tomorrow," he mumbles angrily with each stride towards the door, "Roll yourself down the damn ramp!" he yells as he slams the door behind him.

**~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~**

After getting myself lost in the Southside building, and almost killing myself by free-rolling down the ramp, I wipe frustrated tears from my eyes and suck it up.

All of this didn't matter anyways. I had to get better, and fast. Regain my strength before the surgery for, hopefully, a fast recovery.

So right after I finally found my way outside, I wheeled myself down towards the fitness gym.

The fitness gym was all indoors since we do live in Boston, where winters are below freezing. There were basketball courts, tennis courts, hot tubs and swimming pools, and practically any type of fitness machine I could think of plus private workout rooms you could reserve for a couple of hours.

So that's how I ended up sitting in my wheel chair, staring at the treadmill machine like it was some complicated math problem.

_Don't psyche yourself out before you've started! _I thought to myself and began to shake out my arms, careful not to twist my wrists, even though the swelling has already gone down.

I braced both of my hands on the armrests, pushing up a bit and feeling my torso burn with the strain. I winced and bit my lip to suppress the wails of pain and profanities I wanted to yell in my private workout room.

I breathed in through my nose and exhaled out of my mouth as I tried to stand on the hard cast of my left leg. It sent a tingling feeling throughout my leg, like when your leg would fall asleep and you had to wiggle it out to get rid of it.

When that felt okay, I tried to straighten out to stand upright. I must've made an abrupt movement though, because it felt like someone stabbed me in the gut, and when I tried to breathe in, my lungs wouldn't expand enough as I gasped for air.

I plopped back into the wheelchair, breathing heavily from the hard effort of just standing up!

I couldn't even stand!

_I need to do this. I have a month before homecoming performances. A month until mom comes back to check on my progress. _

"Only a month…" I whispered to myself with wide eyes and bit down on my lip hard.

She'll take me away from Armonia if I'm not dancing by the end of the month. She'll take me home and train me like she used to before seventh grade. She'll train me until I'm able to dance properly again, until I'm skinny as a stick and working nine hours a day.

_I can't go back to that. I can't._

But if this doesn't work, even if she doesn't take me back, I'll lose my scholarship.

"_But if you change your mind and stop acting like a spoiled brat…this room, tomorrow."_

I breathed in a shaky breath as I remembered his harsh words. He didn't even know me. He didn't know why I couldn't play in front of him and I didn't expect him to. I didn't want to tell him either, so I couldn't be furious with him like I wanted to be.

But could I change my mind?

Maybe.

I sighed and traced the patterns of the blue mattress in contemplation. With one glance up at the treadmill, I was rolling myself closer to get a better grip on the rails. I plopped the boots on each foot onto the black rubber of the machine and used the upper-body strength that I've worked my butt off to gain the past fifteen years to gain. My eyes began to water at the burn I felt spread through my body. I was slowly pushing myself upright until I could feel the arch of both my feet support my weight.

I opened my eyes and grinned stupidly around the room like I expected an audience to pop up and applaud an eighteen-year-old girl for standing.

Damnit, I want the applause!

With both my forearms leaning against the rails for support, I emptied my pockets onto the little container on the side of the treadmill. After checking my phone for any new messages from Macey, who was supposed to pick me up in an hour, I pressed the power button on the machine and started up for a brisk walk.

_First position, tondu. _

_Alexa and Tori would be on my left, Kimberly and Victoria on my right. Our leotards were pitch black and our deep multicolored, lacey skirts flowed over our tan tights. We all had on the foot-undies that allowed us to go bear foot except the balls of our feet so we could still turn. _

_It was our lyrical dance for the winter semester of my sophomore year._

_I still remember standing there, the darkness of the stage as the audience roared as they saw our silhouettes line the stage. Our heads were down, my own symbolization for the sadness of the song that Pat Monahan sang as I choreographed. _

_The piano intro started with the song and our bodies started to move, slowly, inch-by-inch. First our arms, then our tondus would turn to attitudes, which would slow become arabesques. _

_**Seems like it's Always Midnight,**_

_**Sweeping up broken glass after every fight**_

_**With the sound of a train**_

_**that I could've been on**_

_**Reminding me that the last one's gone.**_

_**With you,**_

_**It's always midnight.**_

_We moved in one full circle as some of us did jettes, fouettes, and just about any type of turn you could think of. _

_The choreography became faster as we all moved in chain effects, though it looked un-choreographed to really grasp the emotion, at least that's how it looked when we videotaped it._

_**Are you blind?**_

_**Can't you see me standing here**_

_**waiting in line?**_

_**For you.**_

_**Are you mine?**_

_**Not just when you wanna be**_

_**all of the time?**_

_**Are you?**_

_**Are you blind?**_

_**Don't you see me standing here**_

_**Won't you tell me what it is**_

_**I'm waiting to find..?**_

_**With you,**_

_**It's Always Midnight...**_

_As the song came to an end, everyone would walk off stage on different wings. All except me. I would be lying down-Hollywood style-with one leg bent over the other, my palms flat on the floor and my head bowed as the lights would dim. Victoria only agreed to it because I did choreograph the dance, and I am captain of Girls Dance. _

_And the audience would erupt in applause and they would be so preoccupied with thoughts of those talented girls that they would be oblivious to my silhouette disappearing backstage with tears in my eyes because I made a mistake. _

_I did a pique arabesque instead of pique turn into a fish roll. _

_And she noticed. So she waited in my dressing room, waiting for me to arrive. _

_And I would hesitate at the door, wiping my tears. I would grip the door handle and push down the nausea and fear as it turned in my hands and the door would swing open…_

I was suddenly on my butt, the treadmill pushing me backwards and onto the blue matt of the fitness room. The hard cast on my left had a single crack from my sudden fall and I cried out in pain at the sudden feeling of my legs being put on fire and my lungs struggled to expand over the pins and needle it felt were being jabbed into me.

I felt hot, wet tears streaming down my face, my cries becoming muffled with the lack of air I wasn't able to breathe in.

I didn't know how it happened, one minute I was wobbly but able to walk slowly on the treadmill when they gave out from under me and landed my but on the floor.

I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes and stifled the need to scream like a three-year-old for yet another failure.

I was just about ready to lose my mind and start cracking up at myself through tears like the psychopath I am when my phone started to vibrate in the container dangling just above my head.

**My milk shake brings all the boys to the yard,**

**and they're like,**

**its better than yours,**

**damn right its better than yours, **

**I can teach you, **

**but I have to charge**

I sighed in relief, realizing it was probably Macey calling to pick me up. So, when I flipped it open with my shaking hands and raucous voice that said, "Hey, Mace," I was frozen to hear the responding sneer of my mother that said, "Are you in practice? The schedule you emailed me in the beginning of the year says you're supposed to be out? Were you in practice?"

With the fear and all of my worries imminent and still very new and clear, I answer, "Yes, I just got out of practice."

"Your surgery is in five days now, right?" she asks with threats in her voice.

"Yes."

"Good, that means you'll have a week to recover for your auditions."

"Yes, Ma'am." I said quietly.

"And I'll come out to see your performance in less than a month now, you here? No screw-ups. I have people from Columbian Arts and Cornell coming to watch for early decisions. "

"Yes, Ma'am."

.

.

.

"And if I hear again from staff members that you are hanging around and making _**friends **_with any of those crackpot musicians like Elizabeth Sutton from Houston, Texas daughter of David and Gina Sutton, MIDDLE CLASS…you're coming home. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

_Click._

I flip my phone close and hold it to my eyes as I cried into my fists.

_One month. I have one month._

**~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~**

"I am _not _a crackpot! Middle-class, sure, but I am _not _a crackpot!"

"Sure, Liz, sure," Bex snickers at Liz while picking off some clay from her hands. "It's always the quiet ones."

"You should really get that fixed," Macey says tapping my cracked cast. Once Macey found me, again, lying on the floor, again, I went back to the dorms and chugged a bottle of pain meds.

"No! Everyone has signed this one and they'll just give me a new one again." I said defiantly as we all sat in our dorm room with our Physics homework. I told them about my incident in the fitness center and my mom's phone call right after.

I was finally able to tell them all about how I had to be back in dance right after surgery. I told them that my mother's threats should never be overlooked.

"What the hell is her problem?" Bex had asked with her eyebrows pulled together and her voice bitter.

"She's just…strict. It's always been this way between us," I say suddenly self-conscious. As if our mother-daughter relationship was abnormal.

"The woman is crazy! There's no chance that you'll be dancing in less than a month without being completely healed," Macey said with her hands thrown up in the air. It would've made me laugh if the subject wasn't on my mom. She's a constant killjoy.

"Well…" I started to explain when Liz's mouth drops open.

"She doesn't care, does she? She'd have you dancing with casts on your legs and crutches in your hands as long as you're on that freaking stage?" Liz scoffed.

I look sheepishly at my friends and shrug, feeling numb all over from the pain meds.

""What good would that do though? Scouts are coming just to see you flop around with your injuries. What good does that do besides embarrass you?" Macey huffs and I really don't know how to answer that. I honestly don't know the reasons for my mother's demands.

"I have no idea, guys, okay? All I know is that if I don't have my ass working on that stage during homecoming performances, I'm gonna be dragged back home," I sigh and rub my hands over my face. Who knew high school would be so full of drama? Even if it is high school for the arts.

The irony doesn't escape me.

"You're so screwed," Bex mutters.

I agree with her. Wholeheartedly.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

One class that hasn't had to change since my accident-that was turned out to be intentional. Semantics-is the required acting class all students at Armonia take because no matter what Major you're in, you won't make it anywhere if you don't have character, uniqueness, and that's the main goal of the drama class: manners, bring out more creativity, become more well rounded, and all that good stuff.

Plus, it had a good combination of all three majors and one of the only times you could really get to know people who were in different majors outside of core classes.

So when I was switched to 0 Period Drama class to fit in my new schedule for Art and Music right after, I didn't expect him to be there. It never crossed my mind that he would be in any of my classes outside of Music.

What frightened me even more was the icy glare he gave me from across the room and the way I tried to ignore it when I rolled up to the only empty space by him on the Auditorium Stage.

Our teacher was Mr. Diaz, who was as eccentric as the crazy ties he wore everyday and the John Coltrane music blasting from the theater speakers.

"Hello everybody! I'm gonna start off this God awful morning by saying that it isn't the paycheck I get in my mail, but you kids, that motivates me to get up this early in the morning."

We all watched him in silence has he stares at us right back.

"And that is acting my friends!" he points an index finger to the sky.

We all laugh at our favorite teacher and he snorts to himself, "Yeah, even I don't by that crap."

And that's how class with Mr. Diaz usually starts.

We started off by doing some exercises with the whole class and getting the research assignment we get once a week.

I'm starting on the worksheet given to us as the film we have to study plays when I feel a burning sensation and realize the whole side of my body is burning from his gaze on me.

I hear a crack of splitting wood and expletives from beside me in the dark when suddenly his warm breath is fanning my face and neck.

"Do you have a pencil?" he asks in a cool whisper causing me to shiver.

I'm so focused on the sensations his warm breath spreads though my body that he has to ask me again, pointing at my pencil pouch perched on the arm of my wheel chair.

"Um, yeah, sure…" I say and hand him the pencil.

I close my eyes for the rest of the film, vowing to do it later tonight. Once the bell ran signaling the end of zero period, I wheeled myself quickly down the ramps, heading towards the Art building when someone called my name.

Putting on the brakes, I look back to see Zach walking in long strides down the ramp.

"Yes?" I ask nervously which scares me a bit to admit.

He waits until he's standing right in front of me, his shins brushing against the casts on my knees. It feels so intimate, yet the expression in his eyes confuses me; I can't place it like usual. He hides his emotions so well.

"Just tell me now," he says with his fists at his sides, "Are you going to show up today or not?"

"I am," I say without hesitation and it shocks us both. "I'll be there."

He shakes his head and looks down, then back up at me, "Because I want to apologize for yesterday…for what I said," he rubs his neck and runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, "it was uncalled for."

I nodded, shocked by this new side of him.

"S'okay…"

"I'll see you later then."

I nodded and let out yet another shaky breath.

"Yeah, later."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

**Merry Christmas! It's a short chapter but since I'm updating all of my stories, I think that makes up for it? I hope you guys have a nice Holiday! PM me if you have questions and leave a review (kind of like your present to me :] ).**

**~Akira**


	5. Realizations in Southside

**Chapter Four: Realizations in Southside**

Pray God you can cope

I'll stand outside

This woman's work

This woman's world

Oh it's hard on the man

Now his part is over

Now starts the craft of the Father

I know you've got a little life in you yet

I know you've got a lot of strength left

I know you've got a little life in you yet

I know you've got a lot of strength left

I should be crying but I just can't let it show

I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking

All the things we should've said that I never said

All the things we should've done but we never did

All the things we should've given but I didn't

Oh, darling, make it go, make it go away

Give me these moments

Give them back to me

Give me your little kiss

Give me your...

I know you have a little life in you yet

Give me your hand, babe

I know you have a lot of strength left

Give me your pretty hand

I know you have a little life in you yet

Oh oh oh

I know you have a lot of strength left

My love child

I know you have a little life in you yet

Whatever you need me

I know you have a lot of strength left

Give me your hand

I know you have a little life in you yet

Give me your hand

I know you have a lot of strength left

I should be crying but I just can't let it show, baby

I should be hopin' but I can't stop thinkin'

Of all the things we should've said that we never said

All the things we should've done that we never did

All the things that you wanted from me

All the things that you needed from me

All the things I should've given but I didn't

Oh, darling, make it go away, just make it go away

**(****Maxwell's "This Woman's Work")**

**~Cammie, Armonia School of Performing Arts~**

The first signs of an approaching, cold Fall semester appeared the day after my ACL Reconstructive surgery. I kept telling myself that the leaves and snow would fall this winter and by the time we rang in the new year at Armonia that I would be renewed with it. I just didn't expect the climax of the pain in my right leg to be _after _surgery, thinking it had already passed. None of the pain could compare to how I was feeling now.

It had been five days since speaking to Zach in the darkness of our drama class and listening to him apologies afterwards. Every school day since then, I had gone first thing in the morning with Bex. She took me to drawing and painting where I managed to draw a cute stick figure riding what looked like a watermelon but was supposed to be a horse. The next day she took me to a ceramics class, which I actually enjoyed, because all I did was paint the ready-made ceramic pieces.

Then in the afternoon I would head over to the Southside buildings to meet Zach in one of the recording rooms where he gave me various sheets of music, which I would proceed to play, and he would either sit stoically-seemingly listening-or entranced himself in a book. He didn't really talk, only to tell me when I got a note or dynamic wrong. So I would play for two hours each day while he listened.

Maybe I should've gotten mad by his standoffish behavior, yet I appreciated the quiet. The time I spent with him and the piano was therapeutic if nothing else. My leg wouldn't throb as hard, my mind was calm, my breathing regular, and my soul centered. It was a close second to dancing when it came to centering me and I had missed it. I hadn't played this much since my dad died and I knew it was the main reason I had turned solely to dance to achieve a high like this. This out-of-body experience.

So that's where I was at the moment, playing Mozart's Requiem in D for Zach as he read _The Grapes of Wrath._ I knew this song well, as it was a favorite of my dad's, and could play it by muscle memory as I peeked at Zach from the corner of my eye.

I could tell from his expressions that I wasn't the only one who became centered as I played the piano. His whole body would relax back into his chair and he lazily read the pages of his book looking as if he could doze off to sleep. And I wouldn't blame him if he did, considering the heavy bags under his eyes that looked weary from lack of sleep.

My fingers ran over the black and white keys as I lightly pressed and trilled my way through the somber piece. I saw Zach sit up as I neared the end and his eyes became livelier and the edges of his mouth curved up. My stomach felt bottomless and fluttery as I witnessed the anomaly that was Zach's smile.

I pressed the ending chord softly and turned my wheelchair fully around to face him.

"How was that?"

Zach's smile grew wider and he sat back in his chair, trying to compose himself back into his stoic self, "That's probably the best I've heard you play. Have you played it before?"

I blush slightly and scratch my itchy hand under the brace around my wrist that doesn't really need to be there anymore since it's completely mobile now.

"Um, yeah, my dad played it a lot, so I learned it with him years ago."

"Is your dad a musician?" Zach asks with surprise laced in his words. It bothers me that Zach would think that just because I'm a dancer that I would have no respect for any other performing arts and that it would be impossible to have a parent that was a professional musician.

So, I decide he doesn't really need to know.

"Sort of…he died when I was little, though," I let out a shaky breath and see his eyes start to soften with sympathy. I hate all the sympathy that's been directed towards me for the past week. So, I decide to change the subject, "You know he's the one who taught me how to play?"

Zach just stares at me, judging how he should reply and probably decides just to let me talk, as he stays silent.

"We had this gorgeous, handcrafted piano in our living room. I remember always listening to my dad play for me and when I was three I finally just climbed onto the piano bench and started pounding on the keys. My dad…man, I thought he'd be pissed when he found me."

I laugh at the memory.

"But when he saw me he just sat next to me and said 'You have to curve you fingers to really get the loudest sound possible, Cammie'," I continue to chuckle at the memory shaking my head.

"That was just like my dad, to give me advice on how to better pound the keys of his expensive piano. That's how our lessons began," I finish, looking up at Zach to see him gazing at me with an unknown expression.

"He seemed like a good dad," he says finally.

"He was…" I trail off and roll my eyes at myself, "Sorry for boring you with my petty stories. I haven't told anyone about my dad before."

"It's fine, you know. Sometimes it helps to vent to an outside party, someone who isn't involved."

I nod and smile lightly.

"You're not so bad, Zach."

He stands up, grabbing his book with him, "You shouldn't judge to quickly, Cam."

He starts to walk out the door but before he can I call out, "I'm not!"

He pauses and looks over his shoulder, a smirk on his face, "Maybe you're not so bad yourself, Ballerina."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

I sit on a mat slowly doing the Physical Therapist instructed me to do. The exercises are tedious and slightly painful, but I remind my self that I have less that a month to get back in shape.

I work just a little bit faster.

The door to the exercise room opens and I see Dr. Ricci walk in, holding a clipboard. I tense up, knowing that he has information to bring everything down. He has enough evidence to convict my mother with abuse. He has everything except for my acknowledgment and that fact along with doctor-patient confidentiality, he can't do a thing about it.

"Hello Cameron, I'm just going to through a quick post-op check up."

Dr. Ricci proceeds to observe my other leg, which should be healed within a month or two, and my rib that had a slight fracture in it by taking some x-rays.

It's been two days since I ranted to Zach about memories of my father. That day seemed to be the catalyst of a string of memories, the good and bad, to enter my mind constantly throughout the past forty-eight hours. Needless to say, sleep didn't come easily anymore.

"Cameron, I'd like to discuss your mother a bit more," Dr. Ricci says kindly to me after he's finished examining me. "I'd also like for you to consider talking to the police, a counselor, anyone, about this. Now that I have met your mother firsthand, I strongly believe that she is not stable enough to give you a good, loving home."

"I've told you, everything between my mother and me is fine," I urge but it's clear even to me that all of it is a lie.

Dr. Ricci sighs, shaking his head, "Well, you'll talk to me if there is anything wrong, right?"

"Right," I reply, lying straight through my teeth.

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

"So, are you just going to stuff your face with those or are you gonna share anytime soon?" I ask Bex sarcastically.

"Hey! I bought these oreos out of the goodness of my heart. The least you could do is let me have some," she replies through a mouth full of cookies.

"Nasty, Bex," Macey laughs and peels off one of the side of the cookie to lick the creamy part. I was personally a fan of the cookie part, so I reach over to steal the one in Macey's hands.

Smiling, I stuff the cookie into my mouth, moaning at the deliciousness of it.

"Jeez, that was totally obscene, Cam," Liz laughs and I stick out a tongue at her.

"If anyone sounds like a slut around here, it's Macey," I tease, pointing to her as she pauses half lick, her tongue still stuck to the creamy part.

We all burst out into a fit of giggles, except Macey, who then take a bite into her cookie angrily.

"Shut up, it's the best way to eat these freakin' cookies and I don't care if I do look like a slut eating it as long as I get to eat it."

I raise my eyebrows at her and mouth 'sassy' to Liz who bursts out into another round of laughter.

"Mmm, oh, Mace, who was that dude who was all over you at the Mess Hall today?"

"Nick…uh, something. Forgot his last name. Why?"

"Jesus Christ! Why, she asks! He was hot as hell! That's why! Sometimes I think you totally overlook the male species unless they have credit cards bigger that the Senator's."

Macey smacks Bex on the arm, "I do not! And I did notice his hotness, but lets face it, he isn't the brightest bulb in the proverbial lamp."

"True that. Dude's a dumbass," Liz interjects.

"You've met him?" I ask Liz who nods.

"Yep, he's got it bad for Mace here."

"Who doesn't got it bad for Mace around here?" Bex deadpans.

"I don't. My eyes are for oreos only. I'd hate to be unfaithful. Sorry babe," I tell Mace as I lean over to snatch the box of cookies.

"Oh, right cause, Mister tall, dark, and brooding doesn't catch your eye?" Bex asks.

I roll my eyes and sigh, "Yeah, cause that'll happen. We've been…amiable towards each other lately, but the guy hates me. I mean, I'd like to get to know him and stuff but he's not very forthcoming."

"Oh trust me, Cam, he definitely doesn't hate you. He looks at you as if you're a puzzle or like he's trying hard not talk to you, which just tells me that he at least cares about you."

"I agree! I've known Zach since our first year and he's never been so quiet or…confused by anyone or anything before. You're an enigma to him and he's definitely into you, if not just curious," Liz says.

"I don't even know why you guys are talking about me and Zach as anything. We're not friends and we definitely aren't a couple. Besides, I have to focus on getting in shape for the-"

"Cammie you aren't going to be able to audition in three weeks," Macey interrupts, completely serious now.

Tension fills the air and silence washes over us. My wheelchair squeaks forward slightly, reminding everyone of my injuries and that there's a reason I can't sit on my favorite bench in the garden.

"I have to Macey-"

"No!" she yells abruptly and shakes her head, "I saw what happened to you in the fitness center. I've heard your conversations with your mom and you must be pretty stupid to think I'd just lay back and watch you destroy yourself and your career. You can't just walk on a treadmill and expect to recover form you serious injuries. That's insane! I'll go to the police, or a counselor or something if you ever try to strain yourself again. I hate picking you up off the floor, knowing your in pain. Don't make me do that again, Cam, if you won't do it for yourself. For me, Bex, and Liz…just stop. Promise us."

The loyalty, love, and pain in her eyes is enough for me to start sobbing like a baby. But I don't. I know what the consequences are if I don't try to get back on the dance floor within three weeks. I'll just be more low key about it from now on so I don't have to hurt anyone I care about anymore.

So I lie, again.

"Okay, I promise."

~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~

I roll my wheelchair towards Masen Theater after realizing Zach wasn't in the Southside building. I open the doors slowly to hear the sweet croon of an acoustic guitar fill the theater.

Zach sits on a stool on the stage, front and center. There's a microphone centered on his guitar so it can reverberate out of the stereos surrounding the empty chairs in the audience. His eyes are closed and his brows are furrowed, deep in concentration, and I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful than him in that moment. Or hot and sexy. Do not forget sexy.

But mostly beautiful.

I let the notes glide over me, encompass me, until I have the notes engrained in my mind. I roll myself over to the piano when the bench is already missing, probably because he was expecting me sooner or later and had it set up for me.

Then I started to play. Our notes matched up, singing together in beat with one another. One rusty and metallic, the other deep and majestic to create the perfect harmony.

And as the song ended, I kept my eyes closed, letting the feeling of my new high wash over me. I open my eyes slowly, seeing the bright green of Zach's eyes immediately. I smile suddenly erupts on my face and I curse my legs and this wheelchair for disabling me from being able to rush on stage and crush that beautiful, brooding boy to me. Because I knew we had just started something together, something mysterious but amazing.

A smile of his own appears on his face as he sits on the edge of the stage, right beside the piano.

"Not bad, Ballerina, not bad."

"Thanks," I say with a blush.

"How are you feeling today," he points to my legs as his eyes stay focused on mine.

I shrug and say, "Felt worse."

He smirks and says, "You up to run through that again?"

"Definitely."

I realize at that moment that I love these moments with Zach, when it's just the music and us. There's no need for words or meaningless conversation.

Although I do want to get to know him, the real Zach Goode beyond the beautiful brood.

So, after our session I tell him, "I'm switching my major to Music."

**~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~**

**Hey guys! Wowzers it's been a long time coming with this story but this is the first of many chapters to come! I'm so excited to be getting back into this. **

**Did you guys notice how I didn't even attpempt to come up with a last name for Nick this time? Haha, creative juices just ran out at the time! Have a good week! **


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